


You’re Gonna Love It

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Darkfic, Extremely Underage Victim, M/M, Nonconathon 2020, Pedophile Rapist, Science Fiction & Fantasy, This Fic Has a Twist at the End; Skip to the End If You Want to Be Spoiled, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24919312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: “You’re gonna love it, I promise. Trust me.”
Relationships: Interdimensional Traveler Who's Picked Up Some Bad Habits/Young Kid, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	You’re Gonna Love It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplepanther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplepanther/gifts).



“You’re gonna love it, I promise. Trust me.”

The boy is more beautiful than Ciril could have imagined. He runs his large, adult hands ardently over the boy’s small, seven-year-old body. Flat chest, yes, with a pair of tiny nipples, waist, so slender, concave belly, and, aww, adorable frowning belly button. He pokes a fingertip inside, and the boy jerks, ticklish. Below that, not a hint of pubic hair, the balls still high and smooth, and the little cock—! Ah, the cock—! Such sweetness. Ciril licks his lips unconsciously. Exquisitely sensitive, hardening in response to the lightest touch, the foreskin, unretractable, a petulant pucker concealing the flesh and blood fruit of the glans . . .

He takes that little cock into his mouth. Far be it from Ciril to resist such temptation. The soft flesh tastes salty and clean, _pure_ , so different from a man’s, a girl’s, or a woman’s. He can fit the entire little cock _and_ the scrotum in his mouth, and so he does, rolling around the entire package against his cheeks and his tongue, massaging with his lips. His is relentless in his ministrations, and he is experienced, knowing exactly how to make a boy wanton and wild with need.

It doesn’t take long. The boy starts to twist, either seeking more sensation or trying to escape the intensity of it, and Ciril grasps his hips tighter and sucks him harder, until at last he freezes and shakes, quivering from his head of unruly yellow curls to the tips of his burnt umber toes.

A dry orgasm, not the slightest hint of ejaculate. The boy’s purity is as of yet wholly unsullied by gross adolescence. Perfect—yes, he’s _perfect_. Ciril continues stimulating him with his mouth until the sensations are nigh unbearable, and tears clot the boy’s long, golden lashes. “Please . . .” the boy whimpers. “ _Please . . ._ ”

Reluctantly, Ciril removes his mouth from the boy’s sweet cock. “Didn’t I say you were gonna love it?” he asks.

“But . . . I-I don’t understand who you are . . . or . . . why you are . . . ?”

Ciril ignores the boy’s awkwardly phrased questions. The boy has so far felt free to ignore Ciril’s questions, after all. “It’s my turn now,” he says instead. “That’s only fair, isn’t it? We can feel good together.”

There are two types of travel in the modern world: travel across space and travel between times. The first type of travel is as easy for most people as putting one foot in front of the other. The second type, on the other hand, requires years—if not a decade or more—of intensive skills training, and its rare practitioners are subject to intensive regulation, international scrutiny, and inconveniently frequent relicensing procedures.

Ciril, however, is an unlicensed Traveler, and he has thus far succeeded in keeping under the proverbial radar by traveling exceptionally and unexpectedly great distances in both space _and_ time. In fact, at the beginning of his Traveling career, he traveled so far between times in a Pasterly direction that he saw the very first upright apes step out of the forest and onto the savannas. He has since traveled so far between times in a Futurely direction that he has watched humanity give up the concrete jungles of its metropolises for good in favor of a literal return to the trees.

But his primary reason for becoming a Traveler was not an amateur interest in anthropological evolution. He is interested in people, that is true, but his interest is not scientific. No, his interest is rather . . . more . . . ah, um, how best to put it? Ciril’s reasons for Traveling are rather more _personal_. Not to mention illegal. Some would also call his reasons highly immoral and reach for the proverbial torches and pitchforks, but Ciril doesn’t concern himself with what he considers to be the insensitive, ignorant moral judgments of others.

Thing is, he’s known what he was since the onset of puberty. How does one know what—and whom—one desires? Well . . . it’s complicated, and it’s not. Certain formative experiences notwithstanding, in the end, after all is said and done, _one just knows_. And because Ciril just knew, he also knew what he had to do: He had to train to become a Traveler.

The trick to pursuing one’s desires in this vein while not being caught is to travel one from sexual liaison to the next in a consistently Pasterly direction. They can’t catch you if you keep on fleeing to a time before you committed the act! And so he’d planned ahead. He traveled for _years_ in a Futurely direction before turning around again and commencing his current spree. And yeah—it’s been going _great_. So great. And he’s had so many boys, so many he lost count ages ago, upon whom he has been able to perfect his erotic technique. The one downside, of course, is that one can’t afford to stop moving for very long.

But Ciril likes them younger, not older, and kids do grow up awfully fast. So, truth is, he doesn’t _want_ to stay with any of his flings for long. He enjoys them for a while, and then he moves on; he knows that if he sticks around, eventually they will only disappoint him.

This particular boy is a bit different, though. This boy, he wants to _teach_.

Ciril covers the boy’s little body with his big adult one, cradles him in his arms, and kisses him. The boy’s mouth is as sweet as his cock, and he nips playfully at the lips with the polished edges of his front teeth while their tongues dance and joust. Mhmm yes, the boy is learning! And with the boundless stamina of youth, his cute cock is erect once more, rubbing up against Ciril’s chiseled abs. Ciril rocks his hips gently back and forth, his own cock like a long, thick rod of steel, drooling precome as it slides in and out, in and out, in and out between the boy’s silken inner thighs. Although he doesn’t acknowledge his need, nor does he stop kissing the boy, one of his hands—wicked and sneaky!—strokes the boy’s shoulder bone, and glides down the graceful curve of his spine, slipping between the cleft of his buttocks . . .

The boy’s hole is crinkled and clenched tight. When Ciril pokes his forefinger inside, the boy tries to cringe away. Ciril doesn’t let him. He hikes one of the boy’s legs up to wrap around his waist, and lets the tip of his cock brush that virginal pucker. He cants his hips just so, pushing just a little, and the boy stiffens at the novel sensation, and gasps when Ciril releases a flood of hot, fragrant semen in exactly the right place. He does not protest, though, because he does not suspect what is soon to happen—

Ciril rams himself home. The boy shrieks, stretched impossibly wide on the semen-soaked cock, and Ciril holds him tight while he fights and flails, mindless with fear and pain. Finally, after a moment, after an age, the boy seems to realize that resistance is futile, and he quiets.

Ciril’s cock is still hilted, of course. Still hard as steel, still impossibly deep. “You’re gonna love it someday,” he assures the boy. “Really. You’ll see, Ciril, you’ll see! But for now . . . you’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Then he renews their kisses and starts to plow his own child self’s pretty young ass.


End file.
